


Sing for the Years

by rivlee



Series: Midnight Land [3]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-22
Updated: 2011-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Gene Roe’s age, birthdays meant little. Part of the <i>Midnight Land</i> ‘verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing for the Years

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect is meant. Title and cut-text from Aerosmith’s _Dream On_.
> 
>  **A/N:** Unbeated. Part of a round of birthday ficlets, since skylilies pointed out this was the month of Spina, Roe, and Chuckler's birthdays.

“It’s the seventeenth of October,” Renée said as she wiped his sweaty brow.

“I know,” Gene Roe stuttered out. He tried to order his body to stop its shaking, but the side effects of the drug were taking their toll.

“Why will you not heal yourself?” she asked, tears shining in her eyes.

He forced his arm up, pressing his fingers to her bare wrist and sending her energy to calm her down.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said.

“I must do this,” he said.

“No, you do not,” she said. She stood up, throwing down her rag and began pacing around the room. “No one demands this of you.”

“I demand if of myself,” he explained.

“Why?” she asked. It was a question she asked over and over again these past two weeks as his health deteriorated with each passing day.

“I cannot ask any of our students to follow down this path until I’ve experienced it myself. Renée, if we are to fight this government program, we must know how far the effects will go. I will not and cannot ask this of anyone else.”

“You could die,” she said. 

She leaned back against the dark wall, the morning light shining on her face and making her look just like the young child he found a century ago. So many years with her at his side, carefully taking care of him, of all of them. She deserved more in this life, but trying to get Renée to do anything but her duty was impossible. She was a Healer with a strong Manipulator strain; she stayed with them as much for her own safety as her need to watch over their compound.

So young still, little Renée, a street urchin from a Belgian country town. She still worried about his death but Eugene Roe, two hundred and eighty one years old as of today, he doubted the end would ever come. His grandmother was still alive, happily living in her Mediterranean villa and still making enough food to feed the town. No, their family did not hold to a shortened lifespan.

“If this does kill me, I promise you may engrave _I Told You So_ on my headstone,” he said.

Renée threw her hands up and began to curse him out in a rapid string of French.

“I know I taught you to speak better than that,” he said.

“Eugene, go to sleep,” she ordered. 

He tried to fight the command, but Renée was one of the rare few who could control him. He was able to manage one watery blink before he fell into sleep.

 

************

 

He woke up to the sounds of pistachio shells cracking open.

“Edward,” he said, his cracked lips turning up in a smile.

“I didn’t tell you about the Fernando Corporation's proposal so that you could try and kill yourself,” he replied.

Agent Edward Heffron of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, an Extra-Sensory Ally and Defender, called Babe by his childhood friends and Scully by his detractors, had been working with them for over four years. Officially Edward was here to make sure they stayed within Federal and International Rules and Guidelines for Extra-Sensory Training. Unofficially he was present to protect them from all the various entities who wanted to take over a compound of Master Manipulators, Mimics, and Healers. 

Edward sat at his bedside, rolled up his shirt sleeves and pulled off his tie. He took up Renée’s rag and wiped the sweat off Gene’s face. 

“Thank you,” he said.

Edward shrugged. “I consider myself half-responsible for this. Should’ve known you’d pull this bullshit. That’s the last fucking time I leave you for two weeks.”

“We need to know what their drug is going to do,” Gene said. He didn’t have the strength to turn the statement into a command, but it’s not like it’d work on Edward anyway. He was impossible to manipulate through powers, a Void as they were called in the community. 

 

“Their drug is still in the testing phases,” Edward said, “which if you listened to me you would’ve heard.”

“I’m sorry if I was distracted by the fact the Fernando Corporation works with the U.S. Military, is a prominent drug corporation and is known to bribe the Food and Drug Administration.”

“Christ, you’re such a grumpy old fucker,” Edward bitched. He picked up Renée’s notebook from the nightstand and read over the notes. “Some interesting side effects going on here.”

“Sweats, shakes, dry mouth, dry heaving, fever, heart palpitations, hyperventilating” Gene listed, “but still not working to quiet my mind or stifle my powers.”

“Then it’s succeeding in that aim,” Edward said. He took out a penlight and checked Gene’s pupils. “Sorry,” he said.

“Needs to be done,” Gene said, as another shaking attack started. He grabbed Edward’s wrist, resting his finger on his pulse and calming himself down. 

“Fuck it,” Edward said. He put the penlight next to the pillow and laid down next to Gene. He took deep, steady breaths until Gene could properly mimic the pattern. “No more,” he ordered.

“We need to find out--”

“If that damn drug is doing this to _you_ it will kill one of those newbie super soldiers. It’s done, Gene.”

“You think you can tell me what to do?”

“Yes,” Edward said. 

Gene would’ve laughed if his chest didn’t hurt so much. 

“Happy Birthday, by the way,” Edward said, “though I know you don’t celebrate it.”

“After you pass the first century, doesn’t matter much anymore,” he said.

He closed his eyes and waited for his heartbeat to slow down. He smiled feeling Edward’s fingers tap out a rhythm in iambic pentameter on Gene’s stomach. Edward Heffron certainly was a study in contrasts, a smartass city boy who loved Shakespeare, Donne, and Jonson. He had a cat named Marlowe and a dog named Spencer. In another life, another world, he’d probably be teaching English Literature, schooling the youth of America with his harsh accent and amused smirks. He acted older than his age, but occasionally, he showed just how young he was, looking like a _bébé_ stomping around in his Papa’s nice suits. Edward still had a whole lot of living left to do, but like Renée he adamantly refused to leave. Despite all Gene knew, he still couldn’t tell just how long Edward would be alive. 

Death was no stranger to Gene, it may have constantly passed him by, but it took numerous friends and lovers. He lost more and more people with each year, a haunting cloud of mourning over days such as this; he could not celebrate another marked year of his life when he thought of all he’d lost.

“I know you’re being morbid just from the way you’re breathing,” Edward said.

“Can’t you let a body have a moment of quiet reflection?”

“Not when you’re being an idiot,” Edward said, “you can’t change things like life or death, Gene.”

“An argument can be made against that,” Gene said.

“You don’t get to decide when I go, so stop fucking acting like each passing second is a death knell. I’m not the one currently heading towards dehydration and a heart attack.”

“My body’s already healing.”

“Got to put back what you take out,” Edward said.

“I am well aware of my limits.”

“You want to believe that, gramps, you go right ahead but I’ve got a whole file full of you testing beyond your limits. Whatever delusion gets you through the day, though. I figure you’ve somehow managed to live this long so I’ll keep my mouth shut. Your ass is getting out of this bed today. You smell worse than a gym locker and Walt’s acting like you’ve decided to skin baby bunnies.”

Gene fought the urge to sigh. “Out of all my paramours, Edward, your words have wooed me like no other.”

“Kiss my ass,” Edward said. He pushed down Gene’s shirt collar and laid a bare hand over his chest. “Take some energy.”

Gene glared at him. “No, I’ll be fine in a moment.”

Babe glared back, never, ever, backing down. “Renée sent you into a healing sleep for four hours and you’re still going through the side effects. Take the damn energy, Gene, it’s not like we do this every day.”

He never liked to admit defeat, but he could go with a stalemate. “You done with work for today?” he asked.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s night outside. So, yeah, I’m done. And I’ve got tomorrow off. I offer this shit once a year, don’t turn down the chance.”

Gene nodded. He placed his hand over Edward’s and willed his mind to clear. He felt the prickling cold as he transferred the energy. He didn’t need much, Edward was young and in pristine shape, with plenty to spare. After a single minute he had more than enough. The side effects didn’t just fade, they completely vanished. There were Healers in the Heffron line, and even if Edward’s own talents were dormant, the energy was still there. 

Edward barely looked winded, only a little unfocused in his eyes.

“Headache?” Gene asked.

Edward nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“You’ll never have to,” Gene said. 

He tugged Edward down into a kiss, transferring some of the excess energy back. He pulled away with a laugh when Edward jumped.

“A little warning next time,” Edward said.

“You enjoyed it,” Gene said.

“Always do,” Edward admitted. He gestured to the door. “Now let’s get you cleaned up. Rumor has it Hillbilly’s coming for a visit.”

“Rumor or fact?”

Edward shrugged. “He may have said something about serenading you over your birthday cake. Talked about wanting the honor over singing by a cake with enough candles to send smoke signals to Mars.”

“Probably the best chance he has for contacting his home planet,” Gene said. 

He decided not to say anything about the blatant violation of his wishes for no cake or party. Sometimes there was just no stopping the fools. It came with the whole running the compound, the home for anyone like them who needed it. His birthdays weren’t about him anymore, and in their world, any excuse to celebrate was worth it. Only the Readers knew what was going to happen tomorrow.


End file.
